


destiny, fate, and what's written in the stars

by DerAndere



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Characters/Relationships/Additional Tags to be added as I go along, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23911888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerAndere/pseuds/DerAndere
Summary: Aang and Toph meet. Over and over again. | A Collection of Oneshots
Relationships: Aang & Katara & Sokka, Aang/Toph Beifong, Zuko & Suki & Toph Beifong
Comments: 38
Kudos: 123





	1. monkeyfeathers

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my playground to explore various AUs, just a bunch of unpolished oneshots, always including Taang. 
> 
> Other ships may vary, I will put these, as well as the specifics of the AU, in a note at the beginning. (See below.) 
> 
> Updates whenever I feel like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships in this Chapter (other than Taang): Maiko (mentioned), Sukka (implied, blink and you'll miss it) 
> 
> AU Specifics: Modern, Soulmate (First Words your Soulmate says to you somewhere on your body), No Bending

In his dreams, it goes something like this: 

He's a little bit taller. 

A little bit more confident. 

With broader shoulders and dry palms and ears he _would_ grow into, thank you very much, _Jet_. 

And he'd grin the crooked grin Gyatso says makes him look so dashing, ever so charming, and say something clever and profound, and not at all stutter, and she would smile back, heart-meltingly, and reply– 

"I can't believe I'm sitting in space jail with you of all people." 

The boy blinks. 

Katara's face is scrunched up in what he can only assume is a mixture of amusement, exasperation and utter confusion. 

He mostly feels the latter, if he's being quite honest, and decides, not for the first time, either, that this sort of daydreaming has to stop when he is around other people – his friends don't seem to have noticed his mind having drifted this time, but he's had to stammer and stumble his way through more awkward explanations than he can count already, and that's always something he'd much rather avoid in the future. 

He fiddles with the hem of his too big hoodie and glances at Sokka, who, next to him, stares at Katara with his brows raised expectantly. 

"Why ... is it space jail?", she asks, very slowly. "No, you know what, scratch that. Why jail at all?" 

"Why not?", Sokka retorts. "It's not supposed to make sense, it just has to be unique." 

He grabs a pillow from his untidy bed and flings it at his sister – who catches it without effort, of course, and sticks out her tongue. 

"Can't risk anybody but me saying it, right?" 

Aang tilts his head. 

"But don't you want it to mean something? Don't you want to say something nice?"

"Yeah", Katara adds, pillow hugged to her chest. "Imagine walking around your whole life with something about space jail on your forehead, just because your soulmate's an idiot. I'd just turn right around and leave you without telling you my name." 

"First of all, nobody's got their words on their forehead; that's just a myth. Second of all, what do you want me to say instead?" 

A grin tugs at the corners of Sokka's mouth, mischievously, as he puffs himself up, hand on chest, a smolder only half in place, but ridiculously over the top just the same, and he says: " _All my soul yearns for is your presence. Please, take it, and never let it go. I am yours – now and forever._ " 

His laugh is loud, and Katara rolls her eyes, and Aang pulls a face. 

"Well, why not say that?" 

"'cause, dude, it's stupid. I can't go around greeting people like that – nobody would take me seriously if I did, just look at that weird little friend of yours–" 

"Bumi's not weird." 

"Yeah, he is. He's an absolute weirdo. And the fact that you immediatly thought of him when I said weird–" 

"Because you always call him that!" 

"–just further proves my point. He's weird." 

"He really is, Aang", Katara agrees, her face almost apologetic, though Aang knows that there's little love lost between her and Bumi as well. "In a good way, ... I guess. He's ... pretty clever, as far as I can tell, just also ... well, ... very ... odd." 

"You attract people like that, you always have", Sokka sighs. 

He shakes his head and leans back against the bedframe. 

When he raises his hand to push loose strands of hair behind his ear, the sleeve of his shirt slides down his arm to expose bold, white letters, impossible to miss, on the inside of his forearm. 

**Quick, catch that cat, it stole my wallet!** , they say, Aang forgets sometimes, and he thinks that Sokka's soulmate surely would do nothing but smile, should he start talking about space jails, if these are the first words they've chosen to speak to him. 

Unless a cat really would steal their wallet. 

Which is rather unlikely, he reckons. 

"I don't attract weird people", he says and, before Sokka can even open his mouth, adds: "And even if I did, what would that say about you guys? We've been friends forever, wouldn't that make you the weirdest of the weird?" 

"Nah. _We_ picked _you_ up, not the other way around, remember? Well, Katara did, anyway. Maybe _she_ attracts weird people, too." 

"I'm not weird!" 

"I do not!" 

They exclaim, almost in one voice, and Sokka snickers at the twin looks of indignation on their faces. 

Aang crosses his arms over his chest. 

Sokka falls over when Katara hurls the pillow back at him with as much force as her body possesses – it hits him right in the face, and he lies on his back, muffled laughter and completely still, the words on his arm bright against his swarthy skin. 

He rolls over after a moment or two, grunting like he really has to make an effort to do so, and lets his head rest on the pillow. 

His light blue eyes sparkle with mischief. 

"I just remembered your words", he tells his sister. 

She drags the second pillow from his bed. 

He rolls away before she can throw it. 

Aang's mind begins drifting again.  
  


* * *

  
"So?", Suki says, and though she can't see it – of course she can't see it –, Toph knows, just _knows_ , how broad the grin on her friend's face must be. "Didja ask her?" 

Zuko squirms in his seat. 

She can hear his apron rustle. 

His fingers clink against his tea cup's handle. 

"Well ...", he says, avoiding eye contact, no doubt, and then inhales and exhales very deliberately. "I mean, ... I guess. Yeah. Yeah, I think I did ... She's gonna come over Saturday to watch a movie, so ..." 

Toph whoops loudly and – when Uncle reminds her from over at the counter that they aren't alone in the tea shop, though he sounds more amused than annoyed – a little quieter the second time, while Suki laughs. 

"How are you not sure if you asked her out if you've got a date this weekend?", she wants to know. 

Zuko sighs. 

"I was nervous, alright? I ... Well, I'm not entirely sure what I said. My heart was beating really fast, and I ... I was a little light-headed ... But she kissed my cheek and said she'd come over on Saturday and to pick a good movie, so I guess I must've done something right, ... right?" 

Suki, still laughing, pats his shoulder. 

Toph leans against him. 

"You're such an idiot." 

He sighs again. 

"Yeah, I know." 

"Mai's one unlucky lady." 

"Don't be mean", Suki admonishes good-naturedly, and the clinking of fingernails against porcelain stops, letting Toph know that Zuko has taken to tracing the letters in his right palm again, as he's wont to do when he is thinking about his soulmate, or nervous, or both – most of the time, it's both. 

They spell: **I'm Mai.** , and they've been spoken to him so many years ago that he'd hardly remember, had they not caused such a ruckus amongst the adults who'd heard them said. 

He'd only been five or six years old, then, and when he tells the story about how he met his soulmate, he's always a little embarassed to admit that he'd only properly realized what had happened that day while washing his face the next morning, when he'd seen the dark red letters in his palm again, just to come running from the bathroom, water dripping from his eyebrows, and demand of his mother to know if she was sure he'd met the girl (his _soulmate_ ), or if maybe, just maybe, it had all been a dream. 

Suki thinks it's cute. 

Toph does, too, but she'd never admit that to him. 

They've been waiting for him to ask her out – or the other way around – for forever, and him actually doing it (doing the inevitable) is a big deal; Zuko's so painfully awkward around other people and especially Mai, since he's realized what "soulmate" almost always means, and Mai likes to play her cards close to her chest – as far as they can tell, anyway, it's not like they regularly hang out –, they'd never had any hope for her to make the first move. 

They ought to celebrate, really. 

... Teasing Zuko is more fun, though. 

"So, what movie are you two gonna watch?" 

"I don't know, yet." 

He's fidgeting again. 

"I don't wanna mess this up, guys. I can't mess this up. I mean, ... we're _destined_ to be together, and I still don't know what to do, how is that even possible? Shouldn't there be signs all over the place? Shouldn't this be easier?" 

Zuko is possibly the only man in the world to think he could ruin destiny, simply take and break it, even if he must've had this talk a thousand times over with his uncle and mother, and _them_ , too, and so Suki says, the same way she's done so many times before: "You want this to work, right?" 

"Of course I do", he answers quietly. 

"Well, then it will." 

"It's not like you're a terrible person", Toph adds, and thinks for a moment of his father, and how destiny is such a stupid thing, anyway. "Just ... well ... a bit of an idiot. But in a good way, y'know?" 

He snorts. 

"You've such a way with words, Toph." 

"I try." 

He moves, and jostles her, still leaning against his shoulder, a bit, and then his nails clink against the cup again. 

"I actually do always feel like a really big idiot when I'm talking about this stuff, because ... I guess ... well, I've met her, haven't I? I've practically always known her, and I probably should feel really happy about that. I mean, I am. Happy. I was pretty lucky." 

Just this once. 

"And you guys haven't met ... your guys, yet." 

It's Toph's turn to snort. 

"I'm not sure I wanna meet a guy who says 'monkeyfeathers', anyway. What's that even supposed to mean? Nah, I think I'm fine without him." 

She makes a dismissive gesture and cold, cold fingers wrap around her hand – Suki, then, because Zuko runs so hot, it's hard to believe he doesn't have a fever sometimes. 

"You're such a liar", her friend says. "Of course you wanna meet him. I mean, I'm doing fine without Cat Guy, but I still want to know who he is. But keep telling yourself you don't care. Just gonna be all the more funny when you actually _do_ meet him." 

"That's not gonna happen for another ten or twenty or thirty-seven years." 

"Thirty-seven?", Zuko murmurs, like he can't fathom waiting for so terribly many years to meet his soulmate – he probably can't, as he's never waited a day for her. 

Suki talks over him. 

"Betcha he's right around the corner." 

"Betcha he isn't."  
  


* * *

  
But he is. 

He stumbles into her the very next day, when she's about to step inside the tea shop they spend too much time in, cracking voice and the smell of apples, and he spills something cold and sticky over them both, but mostly her front, and mumbles: "Monkeyfeathers." 

She blinks. 

He rambles. 

"Oh, I'm so, ... so sorry. Really, I am. I ... didn't see you ... and ... oh, you _can't_ see me, really, I'm sorry. Aw man, I'm ... such a klutz. Sokka always tells me to stop daydreaming ..." 

He trails off, perhaps realizing that she hasn't said a word to him. 

"Uhm ... are you alright?" 

She can't help but grin. 

(Though the smallest, tiniest part of her is annoyed at Suki for being right.)

"It's you. Didn't think I'd meet you so soon."   
  


* * *

  
This isn't how he's imagined this to go. 

And for a moment, he's not sure if he knows how to breathe, or what his name is, because he's awkward and not at all confident, and still his gangly, big-eared self, and he's spilled his drink over her, and he's not grinning, and this isn't how it was _supposed to go_ , but ... 

But. 

At least she is. 

Smiling, that is. 

And here. 

So he breathes in, because it seems he hasn't forgotten how to.   
  


* * *

  
"I'm Aang." 

"Toph." 


	2. pebbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @gavinskye (over on tumblr) said “Aang asking Toph for help on how to navigate high society?” when I asked for requests, and I’m a little bit incompetent, so this is an etiquette lessons, but it’s directed towards their oldest kid, not towards Aang. It's also very short. 
> 
> Additional notes: Yeye is the Chinese word for the paternal grandfather, as far as I found out. Bumi’s still calling Toph’s dad so, because the word for the maternal grandfather is Lao Ye, which … well, his name is already Lao. Also, there’s a drawing of the kid and his pebbles at the end.

Aang sighed.

To his right, Bumi grinned his broadest grin, smug like only a Bei Fong could be, and snatched up one of the pebbles lying before Toph to place atop the small tower he’d already build next to his knee.

The rocks hadn’t fallen over even once in the last twenty minutes, seemingly melting into each other perfectly as soon as Bumi added one to the stack, and Aang doubted his son was conscious of what he was doing, but it delighted him to watch the boy bend so intuitively.

He was a master in the making, there could be no doubt about that in anybody’s mind.

But, now was not the time to be proud.

Now was the time to protest.

“Why can I not drink the water?”, he asked, his voice very nearly a whine, and Bumi giggled; the corners of Aang’s mouth twitched upward.

“Because”, Toph said, very gently, in the same way one might talk to a stubborn toddler, “that is not what it is for. A bowl of water – no matter how refreshing the lemons in it make it – is there to wash your–”

“You didn’t say anything about a bowl!”, he interrupted in mock-indignation.

She pulled a strand of raven hair from Norbu’s pudgy, fumbling fingers, an almost invisible smile dancing over her lips as well, then laughed: “You’ve always been such a sore loser.”

Aang made a face at her.

“I know you’re pouting”, she sing-songed.

Bumi continued giggling, and it was one of the purest sounds in the world.

“Next question!”, he said enthusiastically, and Aang tried to remember if he’d ever been so happy about receiving etiquette lessons – he didn’t think so, as Toph had been a much less patient teacher back then, and table manners hadn’t been something either of them had found any joy in.

“Alright”, she cleared her throat importantly, “when is it acceptable to start eating?”

Aang opened his mouth, but Bumi was quicker: “When Yeye says so!”, his voice clear and happy and excited to answer his mother’s question.

“And when your grandfather isn’t present?”

“When … somebody important says so … ? Like, Uncle Zuko?”

“That’s right.”

“Yes!”

Bumi grabbed another stone.

“You’re so bad at this, Daddy”, he laughed.

“I know”, Aang sighed, and clutched at his heart dramatically. “When will I ever learn?”

“Never”, said Toph in a dead-pan voice, and she was grinning just as broadly as their little boy. “Been trying to teach you for twenty years now, and still there’s no hope for you to pass as anything but as busboy.”

She shook her head.

“Tragic.”

“Truly”, he chuckled.


	3. rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In March, we did Taang Month over on Tumblr. The turn-out ... wasn't exactly great. (I was one of three organizers, and one of two participants, lol, and I think I only got up to ... Day 24?) Anyway, this *is* Day 24, rain. It's not great, but I do kinda like it, and it does fit here, with the rest of the unpolished stuff, so ... have fun, I guess. 
> 
> Dedicated to my mother, kinda, because the memory Toph's talking about is actually one of my very first memories, too.

"One of the first things I remember", she said, when she felt him approach with sleepy, heavy steps, "really remember, I mean, ... the ... the feel of it ... is sitting in my mother's lap ... it must've been in the early morning ... and I was sick, because I always was." 

He stifled a yawn behind his hand. 

Raindrops made the world vibrate. 

In her arms, the half-asleep boy stirred a little. 

"It was spring, I think. Birds were singing, and my mother was holding me, she always did when I wasn't well, she didn't like leaving me with other people ... And I don't remember if I was cold ... or how the birds sounded ... or how her arms around me felt, I just know that they were." 

She leaned into his side. 

He pulled her closer. 

His heart beat a steady, soothing rhythm. 

"But I do remember how safe I felt. How ... calm and loved and ... and cared for, y'know? The world was good in a way that it can only ever be when you're a child and don't yet know how terrible it actually is. I don't think I'll ever feel like that again." 

She sighed. 

He shifted. 

Their son burried himself deeper in his mother's shirt. 

"It wasn't raining then." 

His arm tightened around her shoulders, and she felt small next to him in the best way, in the only acceptable way, because he towered over her, but he'd never dare look down on her, he never had, and that had always made all the difference. 

"You think Bumi will remember this moment?", he asked quietly. 

"Something like this, I hope", she whispered back. 

"We should visit your parents, when we're done here. There's nothing waiting for us." 

"Yeah ..." 


	4. beautiful

**[102 AG]**

Toph ... was a girl. 

He'd known that, of course. 

Kinda. 

The first vision of a giggling girl, jumping from branch to branch, eluding him, had quickly vanished after he'd seen her blow her opponent out of the ring without much effort, after he'd realized just how ... not fragile she was. 

(Because she'd always been able to knock him over, despite being half a head shorter than him back then, and almost a full one right now.) 

But now ... 

Looking at her ... 

He felt a blush creep up his neck, his ears burning. 

He couldn't usually see her face like this, maybe that was it – with her bangs pulled back, it was free for him to marvel at, dark eyebrows drawn together and lips, painted red just for tonight, twisted into a frown, her slim nose crinkled in annoyance. And her eyes were defiant. 

He wondered what she was listening to and was glad to not be the man standing next to her. 

Aang started when an arm was slung around his shoulders, but when he looked up, his gaze was met by Sokka's ocean eyes, sparkling with mirth. 

"Watcha looking at?", the young warrior grinned. 

Aang flushed a deeper shade of red. 

"... nothing." 

"Toph's looking pretty tonight, huh?"

**[109 AG]**

"You've got dirt on your nose", Aang panted, fully aware that he was caked in dust and half-dried mud himself, a tear in his new pants – and he really should've known better than to wear those today, should've known better than to challenge Toph Bei Fong while in his shiny new trousers. 

She smirked and wiped the sweat of her brow. 

He tried to swallow past his hammering heart. 

"Do I now?" 

Maybe the rip in his pants leg was worth this. 

To look at her now, basking in the knowledge that she'd forever be the superior earthbender between them, raven hair escaping the bun it had been tied into by practiced hands this morning, glowing from within and under the bright midday sun. 

"Yeah, you do." 

And she was breathing deeply, too, her toes digging into the earth she commanded so easily, looking oh so very alive, so very ... in her element, captivating, breathtaking, and Spirits, he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to do anything else, dirt on her nose, tear in his pants, and never let go of her again. 

She cocked her head to the side. 

He swallowed again, harder this time. 

**[112 AG]**

"Help me up", Toph said (almost-whined, and he smiled) from where she sat next to Appa's paw, one hand resting on her stomach, the other stretched towards him, fingers wiggling insitently. 

(He hadn't know they could do that, until just now.) 

"And stop grinning like that." 

Aang bit his lip, just for a moment, before he threw his bag onto Appa's saddle and walked over to her. 

"I'm not grinning", he laughed, then grabbed her hand, small and calloused and fitting perfectly into his much bigger one. "Gimme your other hand, c'mon." 

She pushed her bottom lip forward, and he couldn't help but think that she was adorable. 

"Laughing at me!" 

"I'm not–" 

"My own husband!" 

"–your husband." 

Which wasn't how he'd planned to end that sentence. 

And he was still chuckling. 

"Maybe I'll just stay here." 

"Like I'd let you." 

**[120 AG]**

She was ... etheral. 

And his heart beat in his chest, a little too quickly, and his mouth was dry, his palms were sweaty, when she beamed at him, absolutely radiant, the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. 

Somewhere, distantly, a grinning voice said words that meant everything and nothing at all, but he had trouble concentrating on anything but Toph, her head tilted a little to the right, bangs tucked behind her ears just for now, and the smirk that pulled on her lips when they sparred, when the children managed to prank him, when he called her Sifu in a low, low voice, had melted into the most sincere of smiles. 

And her hands in his were the only thing that made this feel real, made him feel real, let him know that he wasn't dreaming. 

Her thumb ghosted over his knuckles. 

He sniffled. 

**[140 AG]**

The little boy grasped for long strands of hair that refused to lose colour. 

On his grandmother's face lay a peaceful smile, and her eyes were soft, as they only ever were when a child's hand slipped into hers, when he kissed her forehead in quiet moments, when they were with their friends and nobody was looking, and Aang blinked, and the world felt a little weird, because his wife was holding their first grandchild. 

And the smile on her lips made her look younger than they'd ever be again. 

And he couldn't help but think how very lucky he was to sit beside her. 

"Can you believe this?", she mumbled. 

"I can't", he replied, without taking his eye of her face. 

She traced the child's features with a delicate finger. 

He touched his tiny toes. 

"Hey there, Metok."

**[168 AG]**

"You're beautiful", he said. 

She didn't lift her head, didn't even crack an eye open – and why would she, he thought –, but he saw her mouth twitch into a smile, small and tired. 

"Go to sleep, you sappy old man", she mumbled into her pillow. 

"You're beautiful", he repeated, because she was, and in fifty-nine years of loving her, of being in love with her, he hadn't grown tired of looking at her – sometimes, he still felt like that fourteen-year-old boy realizing for the very first time how pretty his friend had grown to become.

(Had always been.)

"You're senile", she replied with a yawn. 

"You're beautiful", he said once more, a soft, soft smile on his face, and she reached out a wrinkly hand to cover his mouth; he pressed a kiss to her palm. 

"Love you, too, Twinkle Toes." 


	5. apple juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuiation of Chapter 1, monkeyfeathers.

Zuko scowls. 

This, Suki supposes, is nothing new – her friend's brow is furrowed so very often, it is a miracle deep creases don't run along his forehead, forever and eternally, impossible to smooth out again. 

She drinks her tea and sighs, then asks: "What's it now?" 

Because a moment ago, he'd grinned at her theories as to why Toph is late. 

Instead of saying something, he just jerks his head – as subtly as Zuko-ly possible – to the _Jasmine Dragon's_ large front windows, and she follows his gaze to see Toph stand outside, next to a boy who'd just been inside, she's rather sure, because his hair is dyed blue and he's wearing a bright-orange shirt, and looking like that, there's very few ways to blend in. 

She's never seen him before today (and if the scowl is anything to go by, neither has Zuko), but Toph seems to be grinning at him, and he's rubbing his neck nervously with a bony hand. His words are wrapped around his wrist in deep, deep brown – maybe even black –, but from a distance and through the glass, they're impossible to make out. 

Most people cover their words, if at all possible, to avoid smoothtalkers and con-artists, but it seems he doesn't. 

Or maybe he's just forgotten. 

Suki turns back to Zuko, who doesn't turn back to her. 

"So? She's talking to a boy." 

" _So_ , who is he? What's he want from her? He bought _apple juice_ at the _greatest tea shop in the city_ , I'm not sure if I can trust him." 

He takes a sip of his tea, like one might drag on a cigarette to let a sentence linger for just a moment longer, to let the words seep into his listener's mind – then ruins it by promptly by burning his tongue and spluttering, looking at the cup with deep betrayal in his eyes. 

She stifles a laugh. 

"You're such an idiot." 

\--

Outside the tea shop, Aang steps from one foot to the other, because he can breathe and he does know his name, but that doesn't change the fact that his soulmate stands in front of him, and that she's pretty, incredibly pretty, with dark hair that looks very soft, and porcelain skin and milky green eyes that can't see him, he realises once more, but still seem more attentive than most people's eyes. 

Her smile is nice, just a little bit smug, carving a dimple into her right cheek, and he wonders in what colour her words are painted onto her and who read them to her, because somebody must've – and he regrets a little that the first thing he's ever said to his soulmate is "Monkeyfeathers!", a phrase he'd been told to drop countless times by not only Sokka. 

Maybe he should've. 

Maybe it doesn't matter. 

It's not like she spoke her first sentence how he'd imagined it, either. 

There'd been a lot less dreamy sighs and much more humour in her voice than he'd dreamed about. 

Somehow, he doesn't mind. 

"Well", she says, and he swallows against the lump in his throat, because her voice really does sound lovely, and he wants to keep hearing it, "I think I should go inside now. My friends are waiting, and I'd like to change out of this shirt. It's a bit sticky." 

He feels heat creep up his neck. His ears have been burning since he bumped into her. 

"Yeah ... sorry about that again. Maybe ... I ... maybe I could ... pay for your tea ... or whatever you wanna buy ... to make up for it, y'know. Because ... I am very sorry." 

"I drink for free." 

She grins. 

He looks through the shop's windows, surprised, and sees a boy about Sokka's age glowering at him – though maybe it's just the large scar over his left eye that makes him look so angry, and Aang's heart sinks a little before he looks back at Toph. 

"You do?" 

"Sure. You wanna come with? Maybe Uncle'll replace your drink, too." 

She's already moving, taking the step before the door with practiced ease, and her hand's on the handle, and he doesn't have her number, doesn't even know her last name, so of course he follows. 

(He would've done so, anyway.) 

(Did she say the tea shop is her uncle's?)

\-- 

Suki grips Zuko's arm, nails boring through his thin sleeve. 

He swats at her hand. 

"Ouch! Let go off me." 

He knows, of course, why she's holding onto his upper arm so tightly – Toph's finally opened the door, and the boy is trailing behind her like a lost puppy, on his face an expression Zuko's not entirely sure how to interpret, but something along the lines of 'lovesick' would probably describe it pretty well. 

She slips through the tables better than he does (he always bumps into at least one of them, spilling tea and words of excuses, and if he's lucky, it'll be one of the regulars, who just chuckle and pat his shoulder by now), and when she reaches their table, the corners of Suki's mouth have practically reached her ears in the most terrifying grin that Zuko has ever seen. 

"Yo." 

He blinks. 

The boy does, too. 

"You've got clothes in the back, right?" 

She indicates her shirt, wet and clinging to her in a way that it shouldn't, so Zuko nods, then clears his throat: "Sure." 

"Cool. Aang, these are Suki and Zuko. Guys, Monkeyfeathers. Be right back." 

And off she is again. 

Zuko's brain stops functioning for a moment, and though he can see very clearly on Suki's face that this is what she expected it to be, he can't quite wrap his mind around what's happening right now, because he'd just assumed this – the boy, Aang, _Monkeyfeathers_ – is some long lost friend. 

Somebody trying to chat Toph up. 

Or the other way around, if they are being honest. 

Aang grips the back of a free chair. 

"I'm Aang", he says, because what else is there to say, really? 

"Nice to meet you, Aang. C'mon, sit down. We're thrilled to meet you." 

And if the look on her face is anything to go by, she actually is, too. 

Zuko, however, isn't sure what to make of the boy who slides into the chair next to Suki's with a smile and a muttered thank you. He looks nice enough, he supposes, with an open face and clear grey eyes, but one doesn't grow up with a sister like Azula to not learn that looks can be deceiving. 

"It's ... nice to meet you, too." 

He doesn't seem entirely sincere. 

His eyes are locked to the door Toph has vanished through. 

\--

She is ... calm. 

She is completely and utterly calm. 

No – yes, she is, the eye of the storm, a mountain, unmovable, calm and collected, and her heart isn't beating a mile a minute, of course it's not, that would ridiculous, and she isn't feeling hot, why would she, everything's fine, everything is normal, she just needs to change out of this shirt, because it's sticky, and that all that's bothering her, everything else is _just perfect_. 

The door swings shut behind her, and open again when a waiter exits. 

Toph breathes in. 

Somewhere to her right, an apron rustles. 

"Hey, Uncle?" 

And her voice isn't shaking.

It's _not_. 

"Where does Zuko keep his spare clothes?" 

He steps closer and then around her and says, in a voice that makes her think he knows exactly what's going on and what to do: "I will get them for you. Say, who's the handsome young man you brought with you?" 

She tightens her grip around her cane. 

"Wasn't he just in here?" 

"Yes." 

A sigh, then a low grunt, and a cupboard door is closed. 

"But I'm afraid we didn't get to talk much. It is rather slow going, lucky for you, but he was in and out very quickly. Here you go." 

A shirt is put into her free hand. 

"Thank you ... His name's Aang." 

"Hm. A very nice name." 

"... it is." 

She bites her lip, and leans her cane against the wall. Iroh starts humming a happy little tune as he starts bustling around the kitchen again.

Muffled by the sticky t-shirt as she pulls it over her head, she says: "He's my soulmate." 

The man keeps humming for a moment longer. 

"Your soulmate", he says, much less eloquently than she'd hoped. "Well, that's certainly something. He looks like a very nice fellow; a very open face." 

She isn't quite sure what that means, but he makes it sound like a compliment, so she supposes that's good; it makes her heart slow down a little. But she still feels smaller than she does normally, and unusually unsure of herself, and Zuko's shirt nearly reaching her knees doesn't help with that. 

"You want to hide in here for a moment longer?" 

"I left him with with Suki and Zuko ..." 

"Ah. Then maybe you should go back." 

"Maybe I should." 


	6. marry me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to add this when I uploaded the chapter (that's my bad), but this running joke of Aang asking Toph to marry him, even when they have been married for years, is based on a headcanon of poweradequeen (AO3) , and a drawing based on that made by rllyjohnrlly (Tumblr). So, y'know, check both of them out, they make cool stuff.

They are sixteen and tired.

His voice cracks like an unpaved road under the scorching summer sun, and his body aches, his mind moves slowly.

There is blood on her cheek, who’s it is impossible to tell, and as she rubs at it with a dirty hand, he says: “Marry me”, in a sigh that comes from somewhere deep, deep inside his chest.

She chortles, short and humorlessly.

“Why would I do that?”, she retorts.

“I dunno.”

He is exhausted, eyelids heavy, limbs of lead.

The sun has almost vanished behind the horizon, and he tries to count the first few stars appearing above him, but he doesn’t come further than five.

“Would be nice, I guess. To know there’s always someone to have my back.”

When she plops down next to him, he closes his eyes.

Her fingers brush his, just for a moment, and as he slips away into uneasy sleep, his forehead sweaty, his robes ripped and dirty, she mutters: “Don’t hafta marry you for that, do I?" 

**–oOo–**

They are nineteen and in love.

Her fingers dance over the bridge of his nose, trace his eyebrows and then his cheeks, explore every inch of his face like they only ever do when they are alone, hidden away from prying eyes, and he gazes up at her.

If for the rest of his life, he could just lie with his head in her lap and watch that serene smile spread across her lips, watch her eyes light up when he twitches his nose, he would do so gladly, forgetting everything in and for a heartbeat.

"Marry me”, he whispers, and she laughs.

“In your dreams, Twinkle Toes.”

“And what nice dreams they are”, he hums.

The smile has vanished, and left behind a more familar smirk, and as she tousles the hair that he really ought to cut, she says: “Maybe you should take me out on a date before you propose.”

He furrows his brow.

“What are you talking about? We went on lots of dates!”

“Nah-ah, we didn’t.”

“We go out all the time!”

“Never on a date, though. Not proper. You never asked me out.”

He knows by the tone of her voice, by the mirth sparkling in her seafoam eyes, that she isn’t serious, that she’s trying to mess with him, but when he thinks – really thinks about it –, he realizes that she’s right.

He hasn’t ever asked her out.

They’ve slipped so slowly and then all at once from friends into more than that, he isn’t even sure when the right moment for that would’ve been.

Well.

He sits up.

She lifts a brow.

“Toph Bei Fong”, he says fervently, “will you go out with me?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Of course I will.”

And kisses him. 

**–oOo–**

They are twenty-three, and their son is beautiful.

He is quiet now, big grey eyes closed, and his tiny, tiny hands are balled into pudgy fists, one of them closed tightly around his father’s index finger.

He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful, most perfect, most amazing thing Aang has created in his life, and he knows that there will be no surpassing this moment, that nothing he has ever done and nothing he will ever do will be greater than this little boy he has helped make.

Toph snuggles deeper into his side.

Any minute now, his heart will burst.  
“Marry me?”, he asks, almost inaudibly.

A quiet snore is his only answer. 

**–oOo–**

They are thirty-one and in a hurry.

A child is screaming in anger, another one laughing maniacally, and he cannot be sure (doesn’t know if he wants to be sure) which sound caused which, and he doesn’t have the time to figure it out right now.

They’re late already.

Terribly late, in fact, and Katara will not be happy with them when they finally do show up, because he doubts the children will stop shouting, and as he pulls the shirt that the little boy has removed thrice now over Shu’s head once more, he calls over his shoulder: “Pema! Bo! Enough! Will you please quiet down?”

They do not, just as expected.

He sighs.

Shu is already tugging at his shirt again.

And where is–

“Toph? Have you seen my–”

“–necklace!”, she interrupts, and doesn’t stop walking to put it into his hand, wooden beads and careful carvings. “It was under Bo’s bed. With just about everything else gone missing over the past few days. Are we sure he’s not been replaced by a giant magpie monkey?”

He shakes his head with a grin, then picks up Shu before the boy can undress himself again.

“Hey, Toph. Marry me?”

She smirks.

“Another time, Old Man." 

**–oOo–**

They are fourty, and their daughter rolls her eyes.

"Don’t”, she demands, scowling like only a fourteen-year-old can.

For a moment, the kitchen is quiet, safe for the scraping of Shu’s spoon inside his bowl of rice and Momo’s indignant chittering when Bo denies him a piece of fruit.

The corners of Aang’s mouth twitch upwards.

Toph bites her lip.

It just takes a second longer.

“Marry me”, he says, and she can’t see the twinkle in his eyes, but she can hear the almost-laughter in his voice, already opens her mouth to answer.

Shu giggles when his sister makes a sound oddly reminiscent of the one their lemur had made just a heartbeat ago.

“You have been married for all of my life!”, the girl exclaims.

“Just give it up”, Bo chuckles. “There is no winning this.”


	7. lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU

There are few things, Aang muses when he slumps onto the hard metal bench, that he will forever remember.

(His father's clear grey eyes.)

(His mother's smile.)

(His grandfather's hand in his hair, and how secure he'd felt in his embrace.)

(The last words his wife had spoken to him.)

This moment, he is sure, will be among them in the future.

He will forever remember turning around and seeing his son gone, will forever remember the way his muscles had tensed when the boy hadn't peeked out from in between rags of children's clothes upon hearing his name (because he hadn't heard his name, couldn't hear his name), forever remember the bright blue trainers Kelsang is wearing, the cartoon monkey on his shirt and the rip in his right pants leg.

He will forever remember this overwhelming emptiness.

His eyes fall shut.

His nails dig into his skin.

Only twenty minutes have gone by, but he feels like he has lived through several thousand lives since he's realized his son is not playing an unannounced game of hide-and-seek, that he's gone, run, hidden, taken, and his heart has been racing, his mind has been, too, and his body vibrates.

His head hurts.

He can't have lost him.

_He can't have lost him._

He feels tears form behind his eyes, and takes a deep, shaky breath, tries to think, of anything but his failure, of where to go next, of what to do, and in the back of his head, he can almost hear On Ji's voice, chiding him in harsh words.

(She would've never said.)

(She should say.)

He bends forward, and his forehead touches his knees.

He has failed her.

He has failed their child.

A moment later, a peel of laughter barely breaks through his haze, and for a second, he thinks he has lost it, that his body has decided that hysterical laughter is the next best thing to do without further consulting him, until he realizes how very familiar he is with this laughter.

(He hasn't heard it in months.)

(His heart burns.)

He sits up.

A tear drips from his nose.

Through wet eyes he sees his boy, walking beside a stranger and a large, shaggy dog, with a smile so broad on his face that his cheeks can barely contain it.

And he is mesmerized by that smile for a heartbeat, because Kelsang hasn't smiled, hasn't laughed like this since his mother has died, and the stranger, the woman beside him says something that makes him break out in giggles once more, and the world feels off, but perfectly alright just the same.

He jumps to his feet.

"Kelsang!"

The boy's head turns, and Aang is nearly knocked over by the brightness of his son's grin.

"Daddy!"

When Kelsang rams into him, everything feels right again.

He picks him up and presses a kiss to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, the child sqiurming and swatting at him all the while.

"You're wet, Daddy."

"I was scared", he says, and oh, maybe he isn't okay again yet, because his voice cracks on every letter. "You can't just go away, you can't just ... you can't just go, Kelsang. You need to tell me what you're doing – I thought – I thought somebody had taken you, I– You can't just leave, buddy."

He sniffles.

Kelsang pats his cheek.

"I'm sorry. But I saw Appa through the window, and he's _so big_ , and I wanted to pet him, but–"

"Appa?"

Kelsang twists and points.

The dog barks.

The stranger sighs.

"He was following us", she says. "I didn't notice until he caught up to us at the traffic lights a few minutes ago. Turned right around with him. And we had a little talk about asking Dad for permission before running after other people's pets."

Her face is apologetic, quite obvious despite the sunglasses she is wearing, her fingers are closed in a white-knuckle grip around a cane, and it's not hard to tell that finding an odd child trailing behind her has been stressful (maybe not as much as it has been for him to find said child gone), though she tries to hide it behind an easy smile.

"I'm very sorry."

"It's not your fault."

It isn't.

"Are you mad?", Kelsang asks, buttom lip pushed forward.

Aang shakes his head.

"No. I'm– I'm–"

He is glad.

Unspeakably so.

The child in his arms – the child _being_ in his arms – is the most important thing in the world, and he thinks he will never let him go again, will carry him and hold him close for the rest of his life.

His knees still feel weak.

"No, I'm not, buddy."

Not now.

Not ever, probably.

"Thank you", he tells the woman as Kelsang lets his head rest on his shoulder. "I don't– I don't know how to thank you. I will ... I have ... _Thank you_."

She smiles at them.

Some part of him registers, as he begins to work normally again, that she is rather pretty when she does so.

He holds onto his son tighter.

"No need to thank me. It's the least I could do, after Appa lured him away from you."

He produces a wet chuckle.

"He is very cute."

"People keep telling him that. It'll make him vain, I fear."

She scratches behind the dog's ears, whose tail thumps a happy rhythm on the concrete.

Kelsang is still struggling in his father's arms.

"Are we still gonna eat ice cream?", he asks, all sheepishness, all nervousness over being scolded apparently long forgotten. "You promised when we were home."

A small part of Aang thinks he shouldn't reward wandering off and following strangers.

The rest of him is willing to buy the whole ice cream parlour.

"Sure, buddy", he says quietly, and his eyes flicker over to the stranger, who is now dragging both hands through the dog's shaggy white fur. He doesn't think before he continues: "Maybe you'd like to come with us?"

She raises a brow.

"Only if you don't need to be somewhere", he hastily adds. "As a thank you, I thought. For bringing Kelsang back."

For making him laugh like that, and smile.

"If we're not intruding ... ? I'd thought you'd like to spend some time alone with him."

"Well, I'd also like to thank you."

"Okay then. Sure. Be aware, though, Appa eats ungodly amounts of ice cream."

Aang grins.

"He does?"

"Hmmm. Coffee's his favourite. I'm Toph, by the way."

"I’m Aang." 


	8. bed

The door swung open.

Aang dropped into a low crouch.

Through the air above his head soared an as of yet unidentified projectile that would've hit him square in the face had he not ducked down; he could hear it bounce off the wall behind him with a dull thud.

He scrambled through the doorway, still on his hands and feet, when a high voice gave the command: "Now!"

A lemur screeched, and he rolled to the site.

"Traitor!", he shouted in mock-outrage, barely containing his laughter, and Toph was not quite so successful with that, her chuckling muffled by the blanket they were hiding under. "You can't banish me! This is my bed, too!"

A hand appeared from beneath the blankets, slight and pale, and he dodged another projectile, thrown with surprising aim, considering the fact that it was flung in his general direction from beneath a blanket fort now.

"And stop throwing your dirty socks at me!"

He clambered onto the bed and pulled at the blankets, Momo still circling his head, and his youngest son screamed when his arm wrapped around him, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. His wife, still vibrating with laughter herself, cried: "Get him! He has invaded the bed!"

He tried to roll off the mattress and to the ground again, with a squirming, giggling Shu as a hostage this time, but the older children were on his back before he could move more than an inch. Momo, now that he had finally stopped moving, landed on his head and pulled on his ear.

Knobby knees and tiny hands pinned him to the bed, the children's joyful yelling and boisterous laughter almost deafening – though if he had to lose his hearing, listening to his kids having fun was how he'd choose that to happen –, and a moment later, Toph's face appeared before his.

She smirked at him.

"Looks like you lost."

He grinned.

"For now."


	9. wet dog

"This is all your fault, y'know?", he scolded as he tried to kick the boots off his feet without dragging mud through the entire hallway, one damp hand pressed to the wall for balance. "Whining until you get what you want, staring at me with those big eyes – you know how to play me like a fiddle, always did, and now we're both all wet."

The dog licked his free hand.

"See? That's exactly what I'm–"

Then shook himself with great enthusiasm, sending droplets of water flying through the room and into the face Aang had just barely wiped dry with a sleeve that was just as soaked as the dog was.

"Appa!"

And now who was whining?

"Ugh. The only reason I'm letting you get away with this is because you're cute."

The man shook his head, hung up his coat, a smile now playing on his lips.

"That's how Toph gets through life as well. And Momo! I'm clearly doomed, living with the three of you. No hope for me, is there?"

He scratched behind Appa's ears, and got another lick and a happily wagging tail in response, before he peeled the beanie of his head and said: "Let's get to bed, buddy. And no more midnight walks from now on, yeah?"

Wasn't like he said that every time they came home from a late night walk.

This time, wet to the bone and cold as he was, he almost meant it, though.

He walked across the hall in darkness with Appa at his heel, and dropped wet clothing as he went, not exactly too tired, but certainly to lazy to put them away properly right now; they wouldn't run away over night, and even if they did, that would just mean one problem less for him to deal with in the morning.

He climbed into bed when only his boxershorts were still in place, Appa just a second faster, and Toph rolled over with a quiet groan when he pulled on the covers she had stolen from his side and wrapped around herself tightly.

"You smell like a wet dog, Twinkle Toes", she muttered, her brow furrowed in half-awake annoyance, not opening her eyes.

"That would be the actual wet dog trying to infiltrate your blanket cocoon", he chuckled.

"Dragging wet pets into our bed." Her voice was muffled by the pillow her face was now pressed into. "Even worse. I should send both of you to sleep on the couch."

He inched closer.

"Too bad this is our bed, too."

" _Our_ ", she snorted.

"And that you love us more than anything in the world."

"The jury's still out on that one."

But she untangled herself and then lifted the covers for him to crawl under, dropping them again as soon as his arms were wrapped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"You're cold", she whined.

He kissed her shoulder.


	10. the past

A knobby knee presses into an old scar, and a young man stumbles.  
  
His back is on fire, spine burning, shoulders _aching_ , and he can't think, can't see, the world is blinding white light and unbearable pain and a desperately buried memory. For a moment, he feels like is falling again, spiralling down and down and down, and his feet can't seem to find the ground, his twitching hands are uselessly grasping for something, anything to hold onto.  
  
"Dad!", a little voice shouts, unbothered, oblivious, over the ringing in his ears. "Daddy, guess what, guess what!"  
  
His fingers hit ... something, and he holds on frightfully, nails digging deep into the only thing that feels real anymore, the only thing keeping him standing, as he tries to breathe, but his chest is tight and his body is heavy. The air he's commanded so easily for most of his life refuses to fill his lungs.  
  
And then an arm wraps around him, pulls him close, at least he thinks that's what it is, and the weight on his back scrambles higher, little feet in his sides, and the knee is gone, and the pain ebbs away, slowly, and he lands, somewhat safely.  
  
He gasps for air.  
  
Bumi rambles on excitedly.  
  
Toph's shoulder must be red under his white-knuckled grip, but he can't bring himself to loosen it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.  
  
"What's wrong?", she whispers, trying to hide her alarm.  
  
"I ...", he swallows, shakes his head. "It's nothing. He just touched my scar."  
  
She blinks. Her brow is furrowed.  
  
"I've touched your scar."  
  
"Yeah, well", his voice is hoarse, barely audible, and in his head swirl pictures of Ba Sing Se and month-long dreams, "you've never rammed your knee into it after catapulting yourself onto my back."  
  
She tucks herself under his arm.  
  
He leans onto her more than he'd like to admit.

**–oOo–**

There are still nights he wakes up screaming.  
  
There are still nights she wakes up with a racing heart.  
  
They cling to each other, in those nights, her legs entwined with his, his nose buried in her loose dark hair, and there is nothing that matters, then, in those nights, in those quiet, anguished moments, nothing but their embrace, nothing but them.  
  
His breath is hot on her skin when he sobs and chokes on words, on past regret and ever-present guilt, and she doesn't need him to talk, not anymore, to understand, but she doesn't interrupt. She doesn't say a word, just holds onto him tighter, kisses his face and wipes away tears, because she knows he'll wrap himself around her, protective, a giant, when she wakes up falling, slipping from a boy's sweaty hand. And she doesn't like being made feel small, but she likes being tiny in his arms.  
  
"It'll be alright", he rasps.  
  
"It will", she breathes.  
  
Neither of them believes the other, not then, not now, but in the morning, when they are tired and their eyes burn after a sleepless night, a child will shout for them, another crawl into their bed, forcing himself between them, something will crash and a newly cracking voice will promise hastily that everything is alright.  
  
And then it is.  
  
For a while, it is.

**–oOo–**

The children ask, of course.  
  
Eventually.  
  
After the scars and the battles and the bags under their eyes on certain mornings.  
  
They don't send them to school for nothing, after all, they can't expect them to learn about the war, learn that their aunts and uncles, their Mom and Dad had played such an instrumental part in ending it, and not ask questions.  
  
Aang's good at answering those.He never lies, of course, but he dances around the truth masterfully, and knows just when to mention the birthday party for a bear they had attended once to distract them from the Crystal Catacombs and crackling lightning.  
  
Toph never knows quite what to say.  
  
Which is rare, she supposes, and the kids soon learn to stay away from heavy topics, to ask about the Earth Rumble rather than the Day of Black Sun, even if they've heard every story she's told about the former about a hundred times by now.  
  
It's hard to be honest with them.  
  
Neither of them wants the kids to even think about what they'd gone through.  
  
And it's hard to realise just how young they are in these stories, those history books, their memories, hard to see their oldest son turn twelve, all chubby cheeks and bright smiles, and he's taller than Aang had been, at least Sokka's sure of that, and he is a _baby_.  
  
He is a tiny, small child, and he's safe, and he will never have to fight a war, they will make sure of that.  
  
"I can't imagine how my parents must've felt", she mumbles once, when they've tucked the older kids in and Kavi is sleeping between them.  
  
"You were right to leave."  
  
"Not right to run into war! I didn't know what I was getting myself into."  
  
"I don't think any of us quite did", he sighs. "But it's over now. And they're all here, safe and sound. Even checked for monsters under Tenzin's bed."  
  
She smiles a tired smile.  
  
"We should visit soon …"  
  
"Your parents?"  
  
"Hmmm."


End file.
